


Foreign traditions

by crownedrooster



Category: Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb, Tawny Man Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: (only for a second I swear), Alternate Canon, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Other, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bc that's what this is, is christmas cottagecore a thing?, make sure to brush your teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28427451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedrooster/pseuds/crownedrooster
Summary: (Alternate ending forFool’s Fate)The Fool wasn't alive to hear Fitz call him by his own name before almost setting fire to his funeral pyre. Five years later, Fitz and the Fool are celebrating Winterfest at home, and Fitz is finally ready to say the words again.
Relationships: FitzChivalry Farseer/The Fool
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24
Collections: Winterfest - Rote Gift Exchange☆





	Foreign traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanebi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanebi/gifts).



> This is my Winterfest gift for my friend, the lovely and all-around awesome @nanebi. I hope you’ll like it! ♥  
> I tried to fill your first prompt, about Fitz calling the Fool by his own name (it takes a while to get there but it gets there I promise). 
> 
> oh and Fitz uses he/him for Beloved here like in the books, but they're very much genderfluid!
> 
> The first sentences in italic are from chapter 34 (Commitments), in _Fool’s Fate_ by Robin Hobb.

_ I asked my last question, my heart squeezed with hurt, dreading however he might answer it. ‘And if I said I would follow you then? Leave my other life behind and go with you.’ _

_ I think that question stunned him. He drew breath twice before he answered it in a hoarse whisper. ‘I would not allow it. I could not allow it.’ _

He stared at me pleadingly and no matter how hard he was trying to hide it, I could see how torn he was. I knew that this was goodbye, and that if I let it happen, I would probably never see him again. My Fool, gone from my life. Forever. I hardened my will and forced a composure I did not feel into my voice.

‘No.’

I raised my arm to protect myself from the flurry of snowflakes the wind was flinging over my unprotected face.

Winter had brought the shortest days of the year, and despite it still being the late afternoon, sunshine was already a passing memory. I hurried up the path, my steps on the powdery snow leaving a clear trail behind me, for everyone to see. Once, I would have worried about that. I would have probably cut through the woods, and stuck to the part of the forest trail that was frozen with ice, to make sure that no one could follow me to my den. I would have been wary of predators, humans or animals, hunting me down. 

But I wasn’t that person anymore.

The way from town wasn’t difficult, but it wasn’t short either. That had been the Fool’s condition when we’d decided where we would live. His health, both in body and spirit, had been precarious at the time, and he’d needed space, not just from other people, but from civilisation and the world in general. The contrast between the ever so social Lord Golden, and the diminished, frightened creature that had come back from Aslevjal with me had been striking. But I understood, perhaps more than he could imagine, his need for isolation after what he had gone through. So we had moved into a cottage near the small town of Oaksbywater, in Buck Duchy. I’d suggested going further South, or even back to Bingtown, but the Fool had declined. I suspected that he didn’t want to take me away from my loved ones. Hap, Nettle, Molly and her children, Kettricken, Chade. 

Patience.

So many people I cared about and whose presence filled me with joy. And yet the Fool needn’t have worried. I would have followed him to the dampest swamps of the Rain Wilds if it meant that he would not disappear from my life again.

I rubbed my cold hands together to try and regain a little feeling in my fingers. It was the first snowfall of the year, and by the looks of it, it was going to stick. The thought made me walk faster. The Fool had always been the kind of person who could appreciate beauty in all its forms, and I’d sometimes caught him gazing wonderingly at the surrounding woods caked with glittering snow, or at the partially frozen pond behind the cottage. But I knew that now, snow also brought back memories that I didn’t want him to face alone. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t far now, and after rounding the last hill, our home came into view. 

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. It had been an old crumbling cottage when we’d come upon it, but the Fool had transformed the place. After Aslevjal, he had become quieter, but the aspect of his old self that had returned first had been his love for crafting and making things.

He had started with small changes but now, only five years later, I could see the Fool’s touch and eye for detail everywhere. His latest endeavour had been to cover the cottage’s roof with decorative plants, something he had heard was possible from Patience. The result, I noticed, was now hidden under a thin layer of brittle ice.

I left my boots under the porch to dry, and opened the intricately carved door to a place of warmth and light. 

‘You’re early,’ the Fool observed, looking up from the dough he was kneading, and the wide grin that lit his face told me I needn’t have worried about the snow. Bouncing on his feet, he came towards me to embrace me and I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. The Fool leaned back, the dark amber of his eyes sparkling as he peered into my face.

‘And you’re in a good mood,’ I said, reaching up with one hand to wipe the flour that smudged his cheek. 

‘Of course I am,’ he replied. ‘It’s not everyday that we have something to celebrate.’

He placed a gentle kiss on my lips before turning back. My gaze followed him as he resumed his baking, and I set down on the table the purse I had filled in town earlier by selling most of my coloured inks.

Today was the first day of Winterfest, one of the most important traditions in the Six Duchies, that celebrated both the longest night of the year and the return of light and new beginnings. In the days of my youth, I had watched the event from afar, sensing the agitation that would inevitably spread to the whole castle while I was being kept under Burrich’s strict supervision. After my grandfather, King Shrewd, staked his claim on me at the age of nine, I’d had to take part in the festivities myself. Winterfest usually lasted a little less than a week, and it had been an event I both dreaded and looked forward to with anticipation each year. For the King’s jester, however, such a feast had been an ideal stage and playground. The thought brought forth the memory of a young Fool, dressed in his embroidered winter motley of black and white, playing tricks on confused merrymakers or angering jugglers, who found themselves outdone by the tricks of one they considered to be a simple-minded child.

Going back to Buckkeep Castle was out of the question, but when I had told the Fool about my latest meeting with Hap, who was to be one of the honoured musicians in this year’s Winterfest – a great accomplishment for so young a minstrel – his eyes had lit up in excitement and he had suggested that we had our own Winterfest, at home. 

Even if I had wanted to, I could never have said no to him.

Thus, we had spent the last few days making excursions into the surrounding woods, gathering fresh boughs of evergreen for decoration. The Fool had tried to teach me how to make holly wreaths but my hands, not as deft as his, had only managed to get pricked and I had soon been put to use for hanging mistletoe and ivy sprigs in festoons around the house. We had also taken out some of Molly’s sandleaf pine tapers, the Fool’s favourites. With the management of her Withywoods estate, she didn’t have much time to devote to candle making anymore, so we usually saved the ones we had for important occasions. 

‘I’m nearly done with these,’ the Fool announced, pointing at the rolls he was making. ‘You should go get warm near the fire, and I'll join you in a moment.’

I nodded and made to stand near the crackling hearth. Reaching out my hands towards the inviting flames, I was quickly warm enough that I could shed my outer clothes. 

A delicious smell soon started to waft from the kitchen. I had gone to the trouble to find the particular spice that the Fool needed for this recipe, some kind of bark strips originating from Jamaillia that, when ground into a powder, tasted sweet and smoky. The Fool had told me that the baked rolls he was making with it was one of his favourite discoveries from his travels, and he usually made them whenever we had something to celebrate. I smiled, thinking about the last time the Fool had made some, for Molly’s last visit. Seeing a friendship blossom between the pair certainly wasn't something I had ever thought would happen, and yet Molly had immediately taken to the Fool, and him to her. 

‘What are you thinking about?’

I felt a pair of arms encircle my waist and I turned around.

‘Guess?’

The Fool made a face at me.

‘I’m too old for riddles, Fitz,’ he declared after a few seconds of pretending to think about it. ‘Come, sit with me.’

He didn't bring chairs but pulled me down to sit with him on the floor before the hearth. This was our favourite spot to spend our evenings, so we had laid rugs and quilts on the cold stones to make it more comfortable. I stretched my legs before me and the Fool resumed his usual position, facing the fire with his legs drawn to his body and his chin resting on his knees. The firelight was making the dark bronze of his skin glow, putting me in mind of one of his varnished wooden carvings. 

‘Your rolls smell delicious,’ I said, breaking the comfortable silence that we were sharing.

Even from the side, I could see the corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiled.

‘They do, don’t they?’ he agreed. ‘But you’ll have to wait a bit longer to be able to eat them.’ He looked back at me and cocked his head to the side. ‘What do you think they’re doing right now, over at Buckkeep?’

I thought back on my childhood memories of the many Winterfests I’d spent at Buckkeep Castle. ‘Kettricken must have given her address to the court already,’ I said. ‘Or maybe she’s letting Dutiful do it.’ As a seasoned King-in-Waiting, it wouldn’t be perceived as odd, I thought. ‘Dinner must have started already, and the Great Hall is probably packed with guests, jostling for the best spot to watch the puppet shows and hear the minstrels’ tales.’

The Fool’s expression turned dreamy. ‘You know,’ he started, turning his gaze back to the fire. ‘The tales were what I loved most about Winterfest. I’ve always loved stories.’ He paused and bit his lip, as if weighing his next words. ‘I got it from my sister.’

I reached out and carefully took his hand in mine. I knew that despite the years that had passed since he left his homeland, he still missed his family dearly. I felt his hand squeeze mine back.

‘When I was young–’ He hesitated. ‘Actually young, I mean. As young in years as a human child is considered young. My sister and I slept in the same room, in a bed that my mother had made for us.’ His head perked up slightly. ‘Have I ever told you that my mother worked wood?’

‘You haven’t,’ I said. He was digressing but I loved hearing stories about his childhood.

‘Well, she did,’ he continued. ‘My nightmares started early so she made this bed that had another one on top of it, for my sister to sleep in. It would feel like I had my very own bodyguard watching over me while I slept. It made me feel better. And every night, after we snuffed out the candles, she would slip into my bed and tell me a story.’ The fondness in his voice was unmistakable. ‘Now I wonder if she made them up or if they were stories our fathers had told her when she was a child herself…’ He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. I didn’t press him to come back to me as I sometimes did when he lost himself in memories. These were pleasant ones. 

After a while, he seemed to snap out of it and shook his head. ‘Stories, were what I meant. Winterfest was mostly about stories for me.’ He sighed. ‘Even though I seldom managed to listen to them.’

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘You didn’t? I don’t recall that King Shrewd ever forbade you from doing anything other than what you wished.’

A fond smile graced his lips, as it did every time his old King was mentioned. 

‘He did not forbid it,’ he said. ‘But doing as I pleased wasn’t always easy at the time. Most people were uncomfortable around me, to say the least. If I sat down before the stage with the other children, people around me would either pester me to perform a trick for them, or they would keep well clear of me. I think some of them were expecting me to pull some sort of prank on them, but I found that mostly, sitting near a freak wasn't such an appealing prospect for the Buckkeep nobility.’

I winced, remembering the cruel names people had used for the Fool during our childhood. He had never appeared to be much affected by it, but no one, not even the Fool, could be completely impervious to people’s cruelty. I brought his hand to my lips and pressed a light kiss on his palm.

‘I am sorry,’ I said softly.

He shook his head at that. ‘Don’t be. I loved being the Fool.’ I heard heartfelt sincerity in his voice. ‘But sometimes, I missed wanting and doing things for myself. Even if it was just a peaceful evening where I enjoyed a good story like everyone else.’

I nodded and scooted closer to him to slip my arm around his waist. I knew that even with the warmth of the blazing fire, he could grow cold easily, and the snow outside had made the temperature drop drastically. He let his head fall on my shoulder.

‘So every Winterfest, there would be a day when I dressed up as a servant to remain inconspicuous.’

My hand that had been stroking his side froze. ‘I didn’t know,’ I admitted.

He looked up at me and grinned.

‘It was the point, Fitzy.’

‘I was supposed to be a spy,’ I muttered.

He noticed my disgruntled face and chuckled. ‘I am sure that Chade taught you well and that you were an excellent little spy, when you set your mind to it. Still,’ he went on. ‘You were no match for my skills with a few cosmetics and a thread and needle. Besides, I found that posing as a serving-girl is the best way to become truly invisible, no matter where you are in the world.’

I tried to imagine the Fool as he used to be, with his colourless skin and hair floating wildly around his face like dandelion fluff, wearing long skirts of serving-girl blue. 

‘No one ever noticed you?’ I was incredulous. 

He sat up and I recognised the mischievous smile that played about his mouth, warning me that there was more to his story. 

‘No one noticed that I was the Fool…’

He let the silence grow as I waited for him to continue, but I ended up giving in before he did.

‘But?’

He stared at me with something almost resembling challenge in his eyes.

‘But you certainly noticed me.’

My eyes grew wide.

‘What do you mean?’

He grinned. ‘It was one of your first Winterfests I think, you must have been eleven or so,’ he explained, obviously enjoying this. ‘You were sitting quietly in a corner of the Great Hall, well away from the other children. We had never really spoken to each other but I, of course, knew you for who you were. I noticed that my Catalyst was making a special effort to brood and not enjoy himself, so I came towards you and offered you a ginger cake.’

‘I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you,’ I groaned.

‘You didn’t,’ he continued, undaunted. ‘But instead of thanking me, you told me that my eyes reminded you of the new moon on a warm summer night.’

I stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re messing with me.’

He took my hand in his and patted it in commiseration. ‘I can assure you, I am not. And I have to admit, since my eyes were the only part of my appearance that I wasn't able to disguise, I was quite flattered. I suspected you’d had one too many glasses of mulled wine, but I hadn’t expected my Catalyst to turn out to be such a poet.’

My cheeks flushed in embarrassment and I hid my face in my hands. I heard the Fool burst into laughter.

‘Ah, Beloved. Truly, you haven’t changed at all.’

He pried my hands from my face and snuggled close to me. I wrapped my arms around him, but his words had given me pause. There was something I had been meaning to do for years, ever since I had brought him back with me from Aslevjal. Was now a good time?

I pressed him closer to me and brushed my nose from his temple to his forehead, tucking his head under my chin. I heard him sigh in contentment as his body seemed to melt into mine. 

Yes. It was the perfect time.

‘Fool?’ He made a soft questioning noise. ‘There is something I want to give you.’

‘Oh? I don’t recall that gift giving was ever a Winterfest tradition.’

‘It’s not really a present,’ I said.

He leaned back from our embrace to look at me, curiosity written all over his face. ‘What is it?’

I steadied myself. ‘My name.’

He raised a questioning brow, offering me a small, unsure smile. 

‘I know what it means when you call me by your name,’ I explained. 

His look of anticipation was replaced by one of confusion, and wariness. Silence held for a moment, before he asked in a quiet voice. ‘How?’

I was loath to mention it, but I didn’t want to lie to him.

‘She told me.’

His face closed all of the sudden, all traces of amusement replaced by a mask of stillness. I felt his body stiffen in my arms and I ached for him as I realised that he was retreating into himself.

‘How I came to hear about it isn’t important,’ I quickly amended. ‘What matters is–’ I cupped the back of his head and waited for his attention to come back to me, hoping that the truth hadn’t pushed him too far out of my reach. It took a few minutes of numbed silence for him to meet my eyes, and what he saw in them must have reassured him, for his expression softened just slightly. My heart was thundering in my chest as the Fool continued to regard me. Waiting. 

I took a shuddering breath. ‘FitzChivalry Farseer.’

The Fool’s mouth opened in what looked like amazement. He stared at me, eyes wide and burning with a strange intensity.

‘Fitz,’ I said again as I smiled, because saying it felt so right. An answering smile broke over the Fool’s face and a tear escaped his eye. He lifted a hand to run his long fingers down my mouth and chin. 

‘Beloved,’ he spoke reverently, and I heard, as I could always hear, all that he put in that name.

‘Fitz,’ I repeated, kissing his tear away and pressing his brow to mine.

Back on Aslevjal, the Pale Woman’s hateful words flung at me out of spite and desperation had made me understand that exchanging names was a tradition from the land that had seen the Fool born. In his culture, it meant that you had formed a lifelong bond with that person, and that you valued the other’s life as much as your own. 

Even then, I knew that it was what the Fool and I shared. 

I didn't tell him that I had already named him as myself years ago when, hollowed with grief and anguish, I had said farewell to him. Maybe I would, in time, but I did not want the memory of that day to tarnish what we were sharing now. 

Instead, we held each other close, savouring the warmth of the fireside and the warmth inside our chests, and only when I noticed a smell of burning did we stand up, and hurried to the kitchen, and to the rest of our lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> (I chose Fitz instead of Keppet because I don't think Keppet really means anything to him anymore.)
> 
> Happy (belated) Winterfest and happy new year!! 🎉


End file.
